Redemption

by Phil M. Williams

  Jason went to his cart, which was filled with books that needed shelving. He pushed the cart along the bookshelves, shelving the books according to subject and their numerical place in the Dewey decimal system. He stopped midway down a bookshelf. He ran his fingers across the spines of famous novels, stopping at The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. He removed the novel next to it—The Pilgrimage by the same author. He looked around, making sure nobody was watching. Then he reached into the waistband of his boxers and removed a small plastic baggy, partially filled with a white powder. He flattened the baggy, placed it in the middle of the novel, and reshelved the book.

  Chapter 70: The Inevitable

  The inmates from Cell Block D had resource center privileges on Friday afternoons. Jason thought about faking an illness to hide from Duane and his boys, but Jason knew Duane could get to him anywhere through proxies and even the guards. Ultimately, if it were going to happen, it was better that it happened on familiar ground.

  Jason spent that first Friday in August on pins and needles, his stomach sick, and his body flinching at the slightest sound. After lunch, Jason purposely spent his time between the bookshelves, shelving books, waiting for the men of Cell Block D.

  In the afternoon, CO McCloud led the inmates from Cell Block D into the resource center. Jason immediately moved to the next bookshelf over, midway down, in the company of the great novelist, Paulo Coelho.

  Between the bookcases, Jason watched five inmates walk to the magazines and computers. Duane, Gold Tooth, and Face Tatt searched the front desk, then the bookshelves. CO McCloud stood by the entrance, like a sentry. Jason knew he wasn’t protecting him.

  Face Tatt saw Jason first. “He’s right here.” Face Tatt strutted between the bookshelves, coming toward Jason, with Gold Tooth in tow.

  Jason stood still, his eyes locked on Face Tatt, and his hands trembling. Jason heard footsteps behind him. He turned to see Duane coming from behind, a smirk on his face. Duane threw a right hook that connected with Jason’s jaw. Jason’s head rotated, his brain jostled, and he fell awkwardly, his body limp.

  Jason lay on the carpet, his world spinning, the three inmates standing over him laughing. Jason reached for the bookcase, trying to pull himself upright, but he lost his grip, falling to the floor again. Duane and his crew laughed again. Jason lay on the carpet, trying to get his bearings. Duane bent down and slipped his massive hands around Jason’s neck and squeezed like a python.

  Jason gasped, peering into Duane’s dark eyes.

  “Ain’t nobody gonna save you this time,” Duane said, still squeezing. “You’re gonna do what we want, or I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you.” Duane let go.

  Jason choked and wheezed, sucking in air.

  “On your knees, bitch,” Duane said, rubbing his crotch.

  Face Tatt and Gold Tooth grabbed Jason under his arms and pulled him up so he was on his knees.

  Duane pulled his pants down, exposing his erection. “You better suck it good, bitch.”

  Jason showed his palms in surrender, still on his knees. His voice was shaky. “Please. I’ll do everything you want, but I need to take something first. I have cocaine. It’s good shit. You can have some too.”

  “Where?” Duane asked, his eyes narrowed, one hand on his erection.

  “Right here.” Jason grabbed The Pilgrimage from the bookshelf. He opened the book exposing the flattened plastic baggie with white powder inside.

  Face Tatt snatched the plastic baggie. “Aw, shit. It’s a party now.”

  Duane pulled up his pants and snatched the baggie from Face Tatt. They huddled around the book cart, turning it so it blocked the row, and using it as a table. Duane was nearest to Jason, while the other two were on the opposite side of the cart. While still on his knees, Jason grabbed The Alchemist from the bookshelf, his body turned from the men, shielding the book from their view. Gold Tooth ripped a page out of The Pilgrimage, expertly rolling the paper to create a snorting straw. Duane dumped the white powder on a hardback book. Jason opened The Alchemist to reveal a narrow cutout in the middle of the pages. The cutout held a metal blade with a grip made from electrical tape. Jason removed the shank from the novel. Jason pivoted, now on one knee, his right hand behind his back, gripping the shank.

  Duane turned and pointed at Jason. “Don’t fuckin’ move. We ain’t done with you.”

  Duane used a bookmark to cut the powder and arranged it in neat lines. As Duane snorted his first line of confectioner’s sugar, Jason sprang to his feet, and plunged the blade into the back of Duane’s neck. Jason was possessed, stabbing over and over again. Blood spurted in pulses from Duane’s neck.

  Face Tatt and Gold Tooth were stunned for a moment. Face Tatt pulled one side of the cart toward him to make a space to squeeze through. When he pulled the cart, Duane dropped to his knees, then toppled to the side, the bookshelf partially propping the big man, and his body creating another obstacle in the row. Face Tatt slipped between the bookcase and the cart, but Jason didn’t run. Instead, Jason rushed to meet him, jumping over Duane, and stabbing Face Tatt in the chest. Face Tatt shrieked and turned, causing Jason to lose his grip on the shank. Gold Tooth ran away from Jason, hollering for help. Face Tatt followed his boy, the shank still stuck in his chest.

  Jason stared at Duane, lying against the bookcase, his eyes still. Blood pooled on the book case and the gray carpet beneath him. Jason spat in the dead man’s face. Then he sat next to his handiwork, his back against the bookshelf, and smiled to himself.

  Heavy boots entered the resource center. The men from CERT with their electrified shields and riot gear. Jason didn’t resist as the first man smashed into him with his shield, jolting him with eighty thousand volts of electricity.

  Chapter 71: Sentencing

  Six months later, Jason sat at the defense table again, this time with a public defender at his side. Norman Tuttle didn’t work for free. The judge sat behind his desk on high, the state flag of Pennsylvania and the American flag hanging limp behind him. Only a few people came to watch the sentencing.

  Judge Sutherland appeared to be in his late-forties, with brown hair parted to the side. His black robe had a V-collar, showing his red tie. His face was full, giving a clue to his heavy-set frame concealed beneath his robe. He said, “Yesterday, the defendant was convicted of voluntary manslaughter, a first-degree felony, which carries a maximum sentence of up to twenty years. However, the defendant has three or more violent offense convictions. For these repeat offenders, Pennsylvania law requires a minimum sentence of twenty-five years in prison, with the option of increasing the sentence to life imprisonment without parole, if necessary for public safety.”

  The judge addressed the prosecution. “Mr. Harrison, in the matter of the sentencing, is there anyone who would like to speak on behalf of the victim in this case?”

  Mr. Harrison spoke from behind the prosecution table. “Yes, Your Honor. Eunice Griffith, the victim’s mother, would like to make a statement.” Harrison gestured to the middle-aged woman, sitting in the first row of the audience, behind the prosecution table.

  Judge Sutherland said, “Mrs. Griffith, you’re welcome to stand where you are and address the court, or you may use the podium.”

  Eunice Griffith stood from her seat and made her way to the podium placed between the defense and prosecution tables, and facing the judge. She was a large heavyset woman, with dark skin. She wore a black dress fit for a funeral. She unfolded a piece of paper and spread it out on the podium. She read from the paper without looking up. “My name is Eunice Griffith. My son was Duane Griffith. He made his mistakes, but he never killed nobody. He was a good son, and he was gonna turn his life around. He only had four years left in prison.” Eunice grabbed a tissue from the box on the podium and dabbed the corners of her eyes.

  She sniffled and continued. “He wasn’t always there for his children, but, when he was, he was the best father. Now Aisha and Jordan will never have the chance to know their father. I believe only God s
hould take the life of a human being.” Eunice turned and glared at Jason. “That man is pure evil. He deserves life in prison.” She turned and walked back to the audience.

  Jason stared forward, blank-faced.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Griffith.” The judge addressed the defense. “Mr. Goodman?”

  The public defender spoke from his seat. “We don’t have anyone to speak on behalf of the defense.”

  “Mr. Lewis, you have the last word. Is there anything you’d like to say before I impose the sentence?”

  Jason stood from his seat, wearing a jail jumpsuit, hand and leg cuffs, and a belly chain around his midsection. “For punishment to mean something, I would have to believe that I’ve done something wrong. You could sentence me to a thousand years in prison, and I will never regret killing that rapist piece of shit.”

  Gasps came from the audience.

  Eunice sprang for her seat and shouted, “Give him life!”

  Judge Sutherland banged his gavel. “Order in the court.”

  The audience quieted. A bailiff approached Eunice with a scowl. She sat down.

  The judge glowered at Jason. “I was tempted by your story of self-defense, but I believe you had ill-intentions, which you so clearly demonstrated just now. You could’ve asked for protection from the prison staff, but you chose to take a life instead, with the most brutal stabbing I’ve seen in my fifteen years on the bench. However, the law states that increasing the sentence to life imprisonment without parole can be done if necessary for public safety. Fortunately, for you and the public, you’ll be a very old man when you’re released from prison, so I believe your risk to the public at that time will be very low. I hereby impose the sentence of twenty-five years in prison.” The judge smacked his gavel.

  Jason knew that meant if he served both his sentences in their entirety, he’d be eighty-one years old when released.

  PART III: April

  Things come apart so easily, when they have been held together with lies.

  —Dorothy Allison, Bastard Out of Carolina

  Knowing can be a curse on a person’s life. I’d traded in a pack of lies for a pack of truth, and I didn’t know which one was heavier. Which one took the most strength to carry around? It was a ridiculous question, though, because, once you know the truth, you can't ever go back and pick up your suitcase of lies. Heavier or not, the truth is yours now.

  —Sue Monk Kidd, The Secret Life of Bees

  Chapter 72: He’s Back

  “I need to have some fun,” Travis said, sitting in the front passenger seat. “I’m so fucking bored. Connor’s parties are epic. Everyone’s gonna be there.”

  April Gibbs drove her Honda Civic through a neighborhood of brick ramblers and colonials built in the fifties and sixties. Many lawns featured Trump 2020 signs. She glanced at her boyfriend. “It’s too dangerous.”

  Travis groaned. “I call bullshit. Nobody our age gets sick.”

  April pulled into the driveway of a redbrick rambler, with a manicured lawn and several Trump 2020 signs. She parked behind her grandpap’s trailered fishing boat and next to her mother’s minivan. April pulled the emergency brake and turned to her boyfriend. “Even if young people don’t usually get sick, I could still give it to my parents or, even worse, my grandparents.”

  Travis rolled his eyes. His six-foot-tall frame was slumped in his seat. “Whatever. You think you know everything. You’re not a doctor yet.”

  April frowned. “No shit, but I listen to doctors.” April was a rising sophomore at Penn and a biology major with aspirations of going to medical school and becoming a pediatrician. Travis was taking a few classes at the local community college.

  “Fine. I’ll go by myself. I’m not gonna live my life in fear,” Travis said.

  April glanced at her surgical mask and hand sanitizer sitting in the center cupholder. “I’m not living in fear. I’m trying to make smart decisions.”

  Travis tilted the rearview mirror toward himself, checking his blond hair and face that resembled a young Ryan Gosling. “You’re such a goodie-goodie. Don’t you ever wanna do something dangerous? Don’t you ever wanna break the rules?”

  April adjusted the rearview mirror, making sure she could see out the back window. “I’m not a goodie-goodie. I’m just not a dumbass.”

  “I’m going with or without you.”

  April turned to Travis. “If you go, you can’t see me until you quarantine for two weeks.”

  Travis shook his head. “Don’t you miss parties?”

  “We’re at a party right now.” She glanced at the clock—1:03. “Come on. We’re late.”

  Travis cackled. “Only a goodie-goodie would think three minutes is late.”

  April stepped out of her car and shut the door. The bright sun warmed her skin. She walked toward her grandpap’s boat, then stopped, waiting for her boyfriend. Travis exited her car. He rolled his neck, then strolled toward April. He wore a T-shirt with an American flag for the occasion. The tight sleeves and fitted shirt highlighted his muscular upper body. April wore a red T-shirt and short but not obscene khaki shorts.

  April led Travis past the garage to the backyard and the ground-level deck, where the festivities were already underway. The picnic table was covered in a red, white, and blue tablecloth. Pappy Frank stood by the grill, tongs in hand. April’s younger twin brothers were tossing a Nerf football in the grass. Her mother, Michelle, sat at the picnic table with Grammy Ruth. April’s father, Danny, was working, taking advantage of the holiday double-time.

  Ruth was the first to notice April and Travis. “April! Hi, honey. Hi, Travis.”

  April and Travis climbed the two steps to the deck area.

  Grammy Ruth stood from the table and approached the couple. Ruth held out her flabby arms and said, “Give your grammy a hug.”

  April hugged her grandmother. Travis stood off to the side, trying to avoid the hug, but Ruth gave him a hug too.

  “Look at you two,” Ruth said, inspecting them. “Such a gorgeous couple.”

  April blushed, not from the compliment but from the lie. Travis was gorgeous. She was average in the looks department. Her straight brown hair hung to her shoulders, with no body and no highlights. The epitome of average and boring. She had brown eyes, a round face, and a medium build. Her face was cute, but her nose was a little crooked, and her smile was a little too toothy.

  She’d met Travis in high school, when she’d been assigned to him as a peer tutor. She’d single-handedly kept him on the football, basketball, and baseball teams. Without her help, he might not have graduated.

  “Thanks, Grammy,” April replied.

  “Hi, Mrs. Gibbs,” Travis said, waving.

  Michelle smiled at Travis from the picnic table. “Hi, Travis. Happy Fourth of July.”

  “Thanks, you too.” Travis glanced at the boys playing catch. “Watch this interception.” Travis ran off the deck into the lawn and stepped in front of Dylan, snatching the Nerf football from the air.

  April said hello to her mother and walked over to her grandpap, at the far end of the deck, following the smell of grilling burgers.

  “Hey, young lady,” Grandpap Frank said, smiling.

  Frank was a big man, with a shock of white hair and a white beard to match.

  “Hi, Grandpap,” April replied. She hugged her grandfather. When they separated, she asked, “Is Aunt Susie coming?”

  Frank opened the grill lid. “She’ll be here eventually.” He turned the burgers with his tongs. “You know your Aunt Susie. She’s on her own time.”

  “What about Becky?”

  Frank frowned. “Your grandmother invited her, but I doubt she’ll show.”

  “I love Becky, but maybe it’s better she doesn’t come. You know she was in Las Vegas last week for her birthday. She posted a bunch of pictures on Instagram. Nobody was wearing masks either.” April thought about grabbing her mask from the car in case Becky showed. However, that was futile because the rest of her family woul
dn’t be wearing masks, so, if Becky were infected, they would all get it eventually.

  Frank grabbed the spatula hanging from the shiny grill. “I don’t think the masks make one bit of difference.”

  “Then why do doctors and nurses wear them?”

  Frank pressed on the burgers with his spatula. “Explain to me why Fauci told us not to wear masks in the beginning, and now he’s telling us to wear masks.”

  April put her hands on her hips. “He admitted to lying because they were worried about not having enough masks for health care workers.”

  “Maybe that was part of it. The bigger picture is the liberals are trying to make things as bad as possible, so Trump isn’t reelected. Look at all the riots. These leftist governors and mayors are letting these thugs destroy their cities.”

  “People are really mad about all the racism and the police brutality. I know you and my dad aren’t like that, but a lot of police officers are.”

  Frank glared at April. “You don’t really believe that bullshit, do you?”

  April dipped her head. “I’ve seen lots of videos.”

  “Don’t believe everything you see on the internet.”

  April raised her gaze. “Those videos aren’t fake.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying. The media highlights these videos and blows them out of proportion. Now the public hates the police and thinks we’re all shooting unarmed black men. Did you know that, if you control for crime rates, whites are more likely to be shot and killed than blacks?”

  April tilted her head. “Really?”

  Frank nodded. “Yep.”

  “The other side says that the police target people of color. That’s why the crime stats show that black people commit more crime than white people.”

  Frank shook his head. “Police officers are usually called to situations. They don’t have any control over that. I’m sure there are racist individuals, just like in any profession, but police officers generally aren’t racist, and they’re certainly not killers.” Frank removed a burger from the grill, placing it on the nearby plate. “I’m glad I’m retired. I wouldn’t wanna deal with this bullshit.” He removed another burger from the grill. “I’m sure it’s rough on your dad.”